


Mutual Aid

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: Could the bumbling volunteer at the Malian NGO be more than she seems?





	Mutual Aid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/gifts).



“Sharon, we can’t keep meeting like this.”    
  
“...behind the crates of oral rehydration salts?” Sharon said, wiping the sweat from her brow. She ripped the tape off the top of a corrugated cardboard box and flipped it open.   
  
Nadia rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I haven’t seen you since...Belize?”   
  
“I didn’t even know you got out of Belize,” Sharon said. “Here, hand me that box cutter.”   
  
“Oh, you know, a little cholera can’t keep a Southern girl down.”   
  
“I thought you were from New York,” Sharon frowned.   
  
“Not originally,” Nadia said blithely. “I’m a vagabond.” She grabbed a blue packet of powder out of the box and pocketed it in her paisley dress.   
  
“Hey, that’s for the orphans,” Sharon said.   
  
“The orphans have plenty. I’m hungover.” And then she flounced away.   
  
“I could really use a volunteer instead of a voluntourist,” Sharon called after her.   
  
***   
  
Nadia examined the crystals by touch and taste.   
  
It was not oral rehydration powder.   
  
It was cocaine.   
  
She sighed and flopped back on her bedroll. Cocaine was the last thing she needed. The first and last thing. It was tempting to bump a little to take the edge off of the sleeplessness of an unfamiliar mission, but that never ended well.   
  
Who was laundering cocaine through the NGO? Her thoughts turned to Sharon, the new assistant director for the region, transferred first from Belize City to Port au Prince, then to Bamako. She was an up and comer in the world of charities and global aid, as comfortable at a glitzy fundraiser charming donors as she was in the bush. Could she be involved?   
  
Nadia’s heart beat faster. Sharon was her favorite asset. No way, no how. Couldn’t be her.   
  
She didn’t want Sharon close to whoever was mixed up in this, and she didn’t stop to think why.   
  
***   
  
Sharon unpacked the rest of the shipment into their small aid agency’s storeroom, annoyed that the new shipment of packets were a different size than before—they barely fit in the plastic drawers. Their mobile clinic was going out to the drought stricken areas of southern Mali with all the usual supplies in the morning and Sharon wanted everything to be ready.   
  
The door swung open and Nadia flounced in.   
  
“All work and no play, Sharon,” she drawled.   
  
“Children are literally starving.”   
  
“I’m starving. Got any more of that Plumpy-Nut?”   
  
“That. Is for. The starving. Children.” Sharon enunciated every word and slammed the bin closed with a flourish. “I don’t know why the director lets you volunteer here.”   
  
“We go back a long way.” Nadia tossed her long red hair out of her face. “Come now. If you’re going to work in the desert, you might as well enjoy the sunshine.”   
  
“If you want to help, you can start loading the truck. And please tell me you know how to drive a stick.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“You’re on mobile clinic duty,” Sharon said with satisfaction. “Hours and hours drive over unpaved roads. Are you sure you can handle that?”   
  
Nadia smiled coolly. “It can’t be worse than cholera.”   
  
***   
  
The cocaine was packed in along with the rest of the supplies, and Nadia couldn’t do a damned thing about it without blowing her cover. Either something fishy was up or some starving orphans were going to get a very big surprise.   
  
It was unseasonably cool the next day as they got ready to leave. Most of the rest of the crew rode in the main truck, but someone had to bring up the rear in the old yellow Jeep. The caravan security guard jerked his head at Sharon and re-shouldered his AK-47.   
  
Nadia squinted, then regained her sunny expression. “I can drive a stick,” she said. “Sharon, why don’t you kick back and ride shotgun and let me handle this.”   
  
With a whiff of diesel the truck lumbered off.

“Get in loser,” Nadia said, teasing. “We’re going…”

“Um, aiding?” Sharon said.

“Get in,” Nadia said again.

Soon they were on the road picking up the rear. The dirt roads kicked up dust and bounced them around.

“It’s funny that they have all the security up front and they didn’t send any with us,” Nadia said breezily.

“That’s normal,” Sharon said.

“Is it?”

They passed a half an hour in silence. The back of Nadia’s neck was crawling. Everything about this seemed wrong. The further they drove, away from anyone who could help, the more Nadia was sure it was a set up.

She had to act.

“Oops!” She said, slamming on the clutch and the accelerator at the same time she yanked on the shifter. She tried to remember what she learned in field school about temporarily disabling a car.

The Jeep lurched and the transmission made a horrible sound as they ground to a halt.

“You said you knew how to drive a stick!” Sharon said.

“I know how to drive one, not how to stop one!” Nadia said. She hoped she had bought them enough time.

***

Almost an hour later, they were moving again. The security Nadia felt from having some distance from the front caravan made up for the feeling of getting cursed out in Malian French by her favorite asset. Sharon’s eyes blazed green even as her face flushed red.

It was not much longer that they saw the front caravan ditched on the side of the road. 

“Oh no,” Sharon cried.

“Don’t look,” Nadia said, but Sharon was driving now. “Don’t get any closer. We need to go back.”

Sharon ignored her and hit the gas.

The truck was smoking from the engine, and there was one body slumped over the wheel.

“Claude, no,” Sharon gasped.

The back was open and everything was gone, save some trampled packets of rehydration salts.

Nadia looked at the scene. Definitely an inside job, and a damn shame about Claude, unless he was in on it too. There was a perverse gladness you got as a covert agent when you successfully predicted a disaster; even better, she saved Sharon from it all to fight another day.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Nadia said, feeling more sincere than she had in years.    
She swallowed hard.

“You saved my life,” Sharon said. “You saved both of us. We would be dead too.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “They might still be out there.” She hiccuped. “Oh god, what if they’re still out there?”   
  
“I’ve got you,” Nadia said. “I would never let anything happen to you.”   
  
Sharon sniffled and frowned and buried her face in Nadia’s shoulder. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”   
  
Her body was hot and shaking. They swayed together. Nadia’s lips grazed Sharon’s neck like a ghost.   
  
A cloud of dust was rising in the far distance.   
  
“Sharon,” Nadia said. “Get back in the Jeep. We’ve got to go.”


End file.
